Join me in my search for meaning, for worthwhile pursuits, for discovery.
"Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you." --1 Peter 3:15
Chick flicks? Why are they so popular? Why are we such dyed in the wool romantics that we continually gravitate toward fairy tales, novels, movies, anything that stirs our hearts and reminds us we were young once and were viable candidates for the starring role in our own once upon a time?
Our bodies may be old but our hearts are still beating. Is it possible to turn off the romantic spigot that still churns out the desire for palpitations caused by a sideward glance, a too-long gaze, a daydream, a song lyric, a love note?
Must our fairy tale only happen once, then fade away and turn to something predictable and careworn? Is this why marriages are set aside and families abandoned? Is this why people walk away, searching for a renewal of the dream? This screams travesty and yet the pining seems strong and real enough that sense often is pushed aside in favor of chasing those long lost palpitations.
What is the answer then? Are movies a good idea to replace the longing? Or are they part of the problem? Are novels an escape, or a too-potent reminder of feelings, delights, drama that are never to play in one's heart again?
Maybe books and movies paint an unrealistic picture of the dream of true love. Did music really swell in the soundtrack of my own great romance? It seemed to. Did my prince charming really spring onto the scene with heart stopping, breathtaking heroics? That is how the memories play out in my head.
Then why could I ever hope to have them replaced with something new? How could anything new be better than the reality that was?
The problem is my heart still thinks it is young.....
I've just spent the day reading a book from cover to cover. I rarely do that. Usually I am conscientious and responsible. Not today. My dishes are not done. My bed isn't made. I am still wearing my workout clothes from this morning's walk.
But.
But I am in a different place now than I was earlier today. Sometimes I am hampered by despair. Inexplicable despair. For-no-good-reason despair.
Sometimes I think I can explain it, or at least partially understand where it comes from. Today I couldn't. I needed to do things and yet I was paralyzed. Not paralyzed by fear. Paralyzed with the inability to motivate myself.
I wish it was just laziness. Truthfully, sometimes it is, but those days are filled with joy and the deliberate choice to play hooky and be lazy.
Knowing that my day was going to be difficult, I picked up a book to hide within. Just a book that happened to be within arm's reach.
I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the sun on my face coming through the window. Maybe it was reading about someone with a legitimate reason to want to run away. Maybe it was grace from a loving Heavenly Father who sent me an important message to "Live."
We must choose, you know.
"Just before she died, McKale asked me to promise her that I would live."
She nodded. "I think we all have to make that choice. I meet dead people every day at the diner."
"What do you mean?"
"People who have given up. That's all death requires of us, to give up living."
I wondered if I was one of them.
"The thing is, the only real sign of life is growth. And growth requires pain. So to choose life is to accept pain."
I know that there are people with "real" problems that face the decision to live or give up each day. And then, of course, that makes me beat myself up for having imaginary problems. But are they really? I don't know what things you struggle with, and you don't know what I struggle with, and perhaps it is best if we keep it that way.
The book is called simply, The Walk. It is by Richard Paul Evans and I found it to be engaging from the first paragraph of the Prologue. It is elegant in its simplicity. It captures the universal dream of running away from it all. Admit it. You have thought about that at least once in your life, haven't you?
I love my life. I really do. I have the freedom to enjoy a variety of pursuits. I have people who really love me. They do! Who can say why, but they do. I have been blessed with good health, with a sound mind, with a profound relationship with my Savior.
When life gets difficult I simply need to remember to glance upward and see that eternity is my covering, as it was with Patriarch Abraham and Mother Sarah (Abraham 2:16). They never lost hope, but pushed forward in pursuit of the great blessings they had been promised. I suspect they even had days of discouragement.
Sometimes I wish I could write what I am feeling and send it off in a bottle in the sea. Then I could be pretty well-assured that no one would ever read it. It is difficult to send off a blogpost because even though it is nearly as lost in oblivion as that bottle would be, there are a handful who may actually find it and glimpse into my soul.
Treat it kindly, dear reader. And perhaps take solace in discovering that others can have bad days too.
May we choose to live; to drink in life to its fullest, and remember that the only real sign of life is growth.
I have been invited to participate in a Blog Carnival sponsored by the charming blog, Modern Mrs. Darcy. As the subject is The Book That Changed My Life, I immediately accepted the challenge to narrow down a very long list. Here is a look back at one of my favorites.
I think I had forgotten. I think I had let it go too long. Had I become afraid? Had I become lazy, or busy, or trying to be selfless, or what? I don't know. I believe sometimes we neglect old friends, friends who have been by our side for years just waiting for our attention, and it is difficult to identify exactly why we have neglected them. I have spent my life reading. It is what I do. There is no greater source for learning and expanding one's mind. But for some reason, I had neglected reading for reading's sake. I had neglected fiction. I have immersed myself in the scriptures. I have immersed myself in non-fiction and don't regret a minute of it. But that needn't be all there is. How had I forgotten?
I am finally remembering the joy that comes from being so deeply within a story that one temporarily leaves behind reality. At the recommendation of my sweet daughter, I have picked up a book, not to learn (and yet I have); not to explore (and yet I have); not to expand my mind (and yet I have). I have gotten back in touch with the dream world of living life through another's eyes, through another's footsteps, through another's thoughts.
I have come to know another person who isn't even real, and yet who I wish so desperately that she was. Maybe I wish she was real because I, in some way, wish that I were more like her. I want to not be encumbered with worry and insecurity. I want to live my life freely without keeping in check every personal expression, fearing that others may not understand or approve. I want to befriend the friendless. I want to show expressions of kindness just for the sake of brightening someone's day. And if I want to wear a long dress, strum a ukelele, and sing as if nobody were listening, then maybe, just maybe, I will.
Sometimes something will come along that changes us. Often it comes in an unassuming way, unexpectedly, and with no great fanfare. Such was my introduction to Star Girl. I read this little gem by Jerry Spinelli in one afternoon, unable to put down this tender, triumphant, heartbreaking story. Something about it spoke to my soul. It called out to me in a very real, very personal way, and I became apart of it, just as it became apart of me. Star Girl is filled with beauty, with truth, with reality; it is also filled with heartache, unkindness and the best and worst parts of humanity.
Having only briefly satisified my thirst for fiction, I immediately turned to the sequel. It is entitled Love, Star Girl. It is quite different from the first one. Among the many memorable parts, the following was the most important for me, the one that woke me up, the one that slapped me upside the head:
"Where are you going?" he said.
"Porch. Check the snow."
"Don't."
The way he said it, I stopped. I sat back down.
He looked at me across the table. "Silly worries don't become you."
Fiction will never replace the scriptures. That's okay. I have the scriptures, too. But I don't know of anything that can replace the suspending of belief which enables one to enter into a world of the storyteller's creation, being invited to see inside someone else's thoughts and to walk in someone else's shoes. And perhaps learn things that are just as important.
Hello again, my old friend, fiction. I have missed you.
I think I had forgotten. I think I had let it go too long. Had I become afraid? Had I become lazy, or busy, or trying to be selfless, or what? I don't know. Yesterday I wrote a blog about neglected old friends, referring to my old hobby of scrapbooking, and the renewal of my acquaintance with layouts that had been so much apart of my life. Now I am meeting another old friend; why have I pushed aside my love affair with fiction?
I have spent my life reading. It is what I do. There is no greater source for learning and expanding one's mind. But for some reason, I have neglected reading for reading's sake. I have neglected fiction. I have immersed myself in the scriptures. I have immersed myself in non-fiction and don't regret a minute of it. But that needn't be all there is. How had I forgotten?
I am finally remembering the joy that comes from being so deeply within a story that one temporarily leaves behind reality. At the recommendation of my sweet daughter, I have picked up a book, not to learn (and yet I have); not to explore (and yet I have); not to educate (and yet I have). I have gotten back in touch with the dream world of living life through another's eyes, through another's footsteps, through another's thoughts.
I have come to know another person, who isn't even real, and yet who I wish so desperately that she was. Maybe I wish she was real, because I, in some way, wish that I were more like her. I want to not be encumbered with worry, and insecurity. I want to live my life freely without keeping in check every personal expression, fearing that others may not understand or approve. I want to befriend the friendless. I want to do expressions of kindness just for the sake of brightening someone's day. And if I want to wear a long dress, strum a ukelele, and sing as if nobody were listening, then maybe, just maybe, I will.
I just finished the sequel to Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl. It is entitled Love, Stargirl. It is quite different from the first one. Among the many memorable parts, the following was the most important for me, the one that woke me up, the one that slapped me upside the head:
"Where are you going?" he said.
"Porch. Check the snow."
"Don't."
The way he said it, I stopped. I sat back down.
He looked at me across the table. "Silly worries don't become you."
Fiction will never replace the scriptures. That's okay. I have the scriptures, too. But I don't know of anything that can replace the suspending of disbelief, which enables one to enter into a world of the storyteller's creation; which enables one to see inside someone else thoughts and to walk in someone else's shoes.
My desk is covered with books. It is stacked with notebooks and pens and paper clips and tools, and the shelves that surround me are filled with more books, and scrapbooks, and notebooks, and craft supplies, and photographs. This is my little bit of heaven on earth. This is my happy place. The exciting thing for me is to discover what will reach out and grab my attention on any particular day.
Today brought one of the biggest surprises I have had in awhile. I don't always know or remember how some things end up within arm's reach of my desk(s) (for you see I actually have two desks and two chairs which make it perfect for guests to stop by and visit me in my happy place; I especially love when my children, or my husband, peek in and pull up a chair). A beautiful purple book begged my notice. I remember buying this book because one of the authors was a Seminary teacher of mine from years ago. The book is entitled The New Testament for Today: Biblical Stories with Modern Parallels By W. Jeffrey Marsh and Ron. R. Munns, but I hadn't found the time to read it until now.
I immediately became engaged, enjoying the format of a passage of scripture from the New Testament which was then followed by commentary or a story from latter-day disciples.
On page twenty-five, one of my favorite passages was shared from Matthew 6:24-33, wherein Christ admonishes his followers to put their trust in God, to "take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink...And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field,how they grow...even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these....for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."
Following these verses was a true story, entitled "Your Children Shall Never Beg for Bread." This story has since been made into a film, entitled Treasure in Heaven, and I found a trailer for it on youtube. After you watch the trailer, I will tell you why this story found me sitting in tears, all alone in my little room, my heart overflowing with gratitude.
From the book I read today: "It is estimated that at various times John gave or loaned over fifty thousand dollars to Joseph Smith and the Church. Later, as John forgave the remaining debts incurred while in Kirtland, Ohio, "the Prophet Joseph laid his right hand heavily on Elder Tanner's shoulder, saying, 'God bless you, Father Tanner; your children shall never beg bread'.
"John Tanner sacrificed everything he had for the gospel, and the promise given to him by the Prophet Joseph Smith has been literally fulfilled."
I am a direct descendant of this John Tanner. Not too many generations pass without linking him to my Grandmother Frances Carter Yost, then my mother Caroline, and then me. Also interesting to note, the missionaries that blessed John to be healed and then baptized him, are also ancesters from my mother's line, Simeon and Jared Carter, brothers to my Great Grandfather Gideon Carter.
Sitting in my own little sanctuary, I was faced with the reality of my great heritage, while reading this lovely story in a seemingly random book. In doing so, I felt the direct love of my Heavenly Father. Because of the great sacrifices of those that have gone before me, I am reaping the great blessings of an inconquerable legacy. My humble needs have always been met. I have always had a roof over my head. I have always had food in my cupboard. I have always found a way to clothe my children, even if it meant sewing play clothes from scraps from the sewing factory.
"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin...Wherefore if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?"
My prayer is that we will always remember from whom our greatest blessings flow; that if we make our lives as holy offerings to God, He will pour out blessings from the windows of heaven, "that there shall not be room enough to receive it." (Malachi 3:10)
"In the Sonoran Desert there are ponds. You could be standing in the middle of one and not know it, because the ponds are usually dry. Nor would you know that inches below your feet, frogs are sleeping, their heartbeats down to once or twice per minute. They lie dormant and waiting, these mud frogs, for without water their lives are incomplete, they are not fully themselves. For many months they sleep like this within the earth. And then the rain comes. And a hundred pairs of eyes pop out of the mud, and at night a hundred voices call across the moonlit water.
"It was wonderful to see, wonderful to be in the middle of: we mud frogs awakening all around. We were awash in tiny attentions. Small gestures, words, empathies thought to be extinct came to life. For years the strangers among us had passed sullenly in the hallways; now we looked, we nodded, we smiled. If someone got an A, others celebrated, too. If someone sprained an ankle, others felt the pain. We discovered the color of each other's eyes." (excerpt from Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli)
I have mentioned that I recently read a sweet little book, one that really spoke to my soul. I learned so much from those few pages that it may take awhile for me to process everything I learned.
One of those lessons is about awakening mud frogs. How long have we been imprisoned by self-imposed mud, waiting for someone to come along and free us from our dreary little self-centered lives? Or perhaps might we recognize our own potential for lifting others from the quagmire?
Which will we be, the mud frog or the rain? Will our smiles, our kindnesses, our affection, our love come as refreshing rain upon one who might be struggling? There are so many opportunities to brighten one's day; are we taking them? Simple gestures can have far-reaching effects; are we making them?
I want to be like Stargirl. I want to make someone's day a little better, a little brighter, and I hope it doesn't come as too much of a surprise. Therein lies the challenge, really. Is our society so entrenched in the muck and mud that a burst of refreshing kindness is so startling and unusual that we don't know how to respond? Is forgiveness questioned? Is selflessness doubted?
May we begin in the simplest way then. Let us take note of the color of each other's eyes.
I consider myself an expert. I consider myself a super fan. I feel ownership; I feel custodianship; I feel like they should have consulted me on their project!
I wonder, wonder, wonder. For whom were the producers making the most recent adaptation of Jane Eyre? Were they making it for those like me (and I know I am NOT alone)? Or were they making it for those that are curious and want to know what all the fuss is about?
Were the glaring gaps left because the filmmakers knew I would be able to fill them all in with my previously acquired knowledge of the story? What about all the first-timers? Are they to be left with the impression that the only joy must come through one's own imagination? Why, why, why did it have to be soooo gloomy, and soooooo austere, and sooooooo heartwrenching? And this is coming from the queen of heartwrenching. I love books and movies that successfully pull my heartstrings to hurt and to ache and to pine. I crave this stuff.
But on the other hand, throw me a few crumbs of joy. Please! A love story cannot be exclusively built upon a few passionate conversations. It comes from the day to day experiences, wherein we laugh, we work, we eat, we enjoy life. The profession of affection comes too abruptly and without enough evidence to make it believable.
Still, it is a masterpiece of filmmaking. Visually, it is stunning. And the few tidbits of Spring color are welcome relief for weary eyes, amidst all the darkness and sparsity.
It stars the brilliant Mia Wasikowska as Jane, and Michael Fassbender as Rochester. Their chemistry is real, but the script doesn't allow them enough lattitude to explore it or capitalize upon it.
The story of Jane Eyre is not all gloom and doom. Period. And yet one would believe it is if this were the only exposure to the story one has had. May I suggest then, for a more positive experience, one might try:
1) the book, itself, by Charlotte Bronte
2) the original 1944 version with Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine
3) or the 1996 version with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg
4) or the 1997 version with Ciaran Hind and Samantha Morton
5) or the 1983 version with Timothy Dalton and Zelah Clarke
6) or the 2006 version with Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson
Each one adds a new dimension to this timeless tale. Each Rochester is irresistable in his own unique way. Each Jane is a symbol of courage and integrity, which is the real reason this book lingers in the top of my all-time favorites list. She may be put upon, harshly dealt with, yet she never loses sight of right and wrong and self-respect. She makes no excuses and I admire that.
Sometimes something will come along that changes you. Often it comes in an unassuming way, unexpectedly, and with no great fanfare. Such was my introduction to Stargirl. I read Stargirl in one afternoon, unable to put down this tender, triumphant, heartbreaking story. Something about it spoke to my soul. It called out to me in a very real, very personal way, and I became apart of it, just as it became apart of me.
Stargirl is filled with beauty, with truth, with reality; it is also filled with heartache and with unkindness and with the best and worst parts of humanity.
There are many blogposts to be written about Stargirl. This is the first. It will not be the last.
What a week I've had! What began with only a vague awareness of a literary work, soon gave way to a rush of influence by the C.S. Lewis masterpiece, The Screwtape Letters.
I had heard of this book. I understood what it claimed to be. In fact, I had purchased a copy of this book as a gift for my son-in-law for Christmas; not because I had thought it to be the perfect gift, but at the suggestion of my daughter on her husband's behalf.
A few weeks after Christmas I received an email from a friend inviting my husband and I to attend a theatrical performance of, what else? The Screwtape Letters. Being distracted by life, I failed to respond to the invitation and even forgot to tell my husband about it.
Two more weeks pass by. My husband mentions a blurb he had heard on the radio about this particular show coming to Portland. It jolted my memory of the email, and we then discussed the possibility of getting tickets. He was eager. I was impartial.
With tickets purchased and a week until showtime, we decided some preparation would add to our appreciation of the event. With the new-fangled technology, I purchased and downloaded a digital copy of the book to be read on my iPad.
Together each evening, Brian and I would gather for study of The Screwtape Letters. I read the challenging text aloud, hoping that Brian was able to understand at least some of what I was fumbling through. It is the type of book that shouldn't be rushed through in a week. It requires time to reflect, to ponder,to decipher, to chew on the intensity and the subtlety. It is also the kind of book that begs for certain passages to be underlined and highlighted, with notetaking in the margins so amazing parts can be revisited, reevaluated, and re-appreciated.
None of which was possible for us while cramming on an iPad.
That said, we did get a lot out of our reading. Our regret was that in our truncated study, our ultimate results were certainly truncated too.
Showtime came. It was amazing; a two-person cast, with only one of those actually speaking, it was unique. It was thought provoking. It was humbling to recognize human foibles present in oneself, the results of Satan and his minions successfully understanding the natural man and effectively leading us astray. I use the collective "we" loosely. Perhaps I am the only one weak and impressionable....
I have since thought a lot about The Screwtape Letters. I recognize it to be full of profound truths, with Mr. Lewis being directly inspired. I liken it to sneaking a peek at the opposing team's playbook. If we can understand their game plan, with all of their strategies and scheming, we are certainly better equipped to construct an effective offense, while fortifying our team's defense. They play dirty. They intend to win. Our eternities are at stake, but we have God on our side. Sorry, Screwtape.
Imagine my delight on opening my valentine gift and finding a hard copy of The ScrewtapeLetters. My husband knows me so well. He knows that I couldn't wait to get my hands on a copy that I could reread slowly and deliberately and make my own, with any amount of notations and scribbles. It will become a treasure, for sure.
I feel like someone has been trying to get my attention to become familiar this book. And it took nearly being beaten on the head with it in order to wake me up. If your curiosity is piqued even just a little, I would encourage you to have a go at it. It may not be the easiest book you ever read, but I guarantee it will be one of the most eye-opening.
I don't have anything against popular fiction. I am thrilled that many people are choosing to read as part of their leisure. In a world where most of our input is through simplified mind-numbing television, movies and youtube videos, books represent a great exercise for our minds.
That said, I am an advocate for classic literature. I believe there is a reason that a handpicked selection has proven the test of time, has been around the block and back again, offers something to each new up and coming generation. And never fails to deliver!
Many think that if something is given as an assignment, it must be approached cautiously. Nope. Many titles, from your summer reading lists of the past, really are great books, ones that can be enjoyed for their own merit and you will never be faced with a pop quiz or a writing assignment about them. That is the true meaning of pleasure reading to me. These are tried and true and have merit, whatever your interests are.
Personal Favorites
The Scarlet Pimpernel series by the Baroness Orczy (lots of swashbuckling heroism)
The Horatio Hornblower series by C.S. Forester (I am in love with Horatio, a true hero with integrity) A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens (One of the most inspirational books I've ever read) Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (This book changed my life, gave me courage when courage was needed)
Here is a link to a thorough, outstanding list of classic literature, categorized for adults, teens, and children.
As an editorial note, don't be afraid to partake from every category. As an adult I have enjoyed many selections from each list. They also contain excellent selections to be read aloud as a family.
Can't Miss Authors
John Steinbeck
Ernest Hemingway
OscarWilde
Jane Austen
Mark Twain
Arthur Conan Doyle
J.R.R. Tolkien
Louisa May Alcott
Harper Lee
H.G. Wells
Robert Louis Stevenson
C.S. Lewis
L.M. Montgomery
For those wanting to venture into poetry, start with Shakespeare's Sonnets. So beautiful. But perhaps that is another blog for another day....
One of the most vividly contrasting scenes in the Sound of Music is towards the end when the Von Trapp family is hiding in the church from the Nazis. While the soldiers are speedily pursuing there is fast-paced chase music which sets everyone on edge due to the tenseness of the situation. Then, as the nuns are summoned to the front gate, the music changes, and they purposefully, with great effort, endeavor to slow their pace, slow their speaking, slow their movement to indicate peace and tranquility and calm.
We could learn a lot from a nun. Even in the midst of haste and hurry, the best way to find peace may be to manufacture a little of it by slowing our pace and slowing our heartrates, and "pretending" we are calm. During these times in our lives when the winds may blow and storms may rage, we find ourselves in the middle of it all, struggling for some type of reprieve or relief. Generally we find that the answers do not come as we expend our energy furiously treading water; we only get more anxious and more tired and more desperate. Perhaps the most radical move is to gently turn onto one's back and peacefully, slowly, begin to swim toward the shore and remove ourselves from the situation. We purposefully slow our heartrate; change our plan; recognize what our body and soul are telling us.
I picked up a book today. It has been within arm's reach of my desk for the past month, unnoticed and untouched. Until today. After calling my name to pick it up, its counsel rang with such truth to me. It spoke of this conscientiously slowing down life's pace; of how as a society we are driven to accomplish, to please, to produce, to perfect, all at the mercy of our peace.
The book reminds us of the wisdom in doing fewer things, while taking the time to make the most of those we choose to do. It encourages us to "walk a little slower and notice a little more, drive a little slower and be more aware of what is around you. You will only lose a few seconds, and you will start to win the battle against haste and hurry."
I believe we should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, but not to the degree that "anxious" becomes "anxiety". We needn't run faster than we have strength.
My goals for the new year are to walk slowly and think slowly, trying for more awareness and perspective--to see more, feel more, and to look for more quality and less quantity in my activities, my relationships, and my goals.
"Let that kiss for your loved one take a little longer. Look into a person's eyes and hold the hand a second longer when you greet someone. Sit down and take a look around you for a moment before you start a piece of work....Slow thinking is intuitive and creative. Slowing down and giving ideas times to simmer at their own pace yields rich and subtle insights, leading to lateral thinking and serendipity."
Chick flicks? Why are they so popular? Why are we such dyed in the wool romantics that we continually gravitate toward fairy tales, novels, movies, anything that stirs our hearts and reminds us we were young once and were viable candidates for the starring role in our own once upon a time?
